


Anchor

by trulywicked



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Vulnerable Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trulywicked/pseuds/trulywicked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was happy to be Sherlock's anchor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Acherona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acherona/gifts).



> This was actually the first attempt I ever made at Sherlock fanfiction. It came about because I noticed the way Sherlock reacted in the scene where John tells him he found his website. It was just such complete childlike glee before his face fell that I badly wanted to write John soothing a vulnerable Sherlock. So I did and gifted it to the wonderful lady who introduced me to Sherlock, Acherona. First posted on Tumblr earlier today, I hope you'll enjoy it.

John’s expression as he watched Mycroft leave the flat could have been carved from stone. It was cold, it was hard, and the only clue about the roiling fury he felt right now was the barely noticeable flexing of a muscle in his jaw. His hands provided more of a clue as the left one was fisted and shaking to the control required to keep from clocking Mycroft. He could hear the utter silence from just behind him where Sherlock sat.  
  
In five sharp strides he’d crossed the floor and snapped the door shut, locking it before turning to study Sherlock. Most people thought that Sherlock didn’t care about anyone’s approval but his own but nothing could be farther from the truth. He did care about the approval of others, just not the world at large. There were very few people who’s opinions Sherlock valued, they could be counted on one hand, but the approval of those few people was of such great importance that the disapproval of them was capable of breaking Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock was like a child in some ways, his desire to be recognized as being worth something, being valuable was one of the largest. John could still remember the eager, kid in a candy store anticipation on Sherlock’s face the first time he’d seen the flat and told Sherlock that he’d found his website, he could still hear Sherlock’s excited tone asking what he’d thought and even still see the fall of the childlike glee when John had given him a less than believing look. Sherlock himself had said that it was the frailty of genius to need an audience and no one was as great a genius as Sherlock.  
  
So Sherlock craved approval and one of the people who’s opinion mattered greatly to him, though he’d deny it until he was cold and in his grave, was Mycroft. And Mycroft had just slashed into Sherlock’s most vulnerable area with the ruthless efficiency borne from years of familiarity and experience with Sherlock’s most sensitive issues because he’d discovered that Irene Adler was alive, that Sherlock had saved her four years ago.   
  
Sherlock had started off the confrontation as he always did when dealing with Mycroft, dispassionate and almost smirking, until his brother had let loose and used the Holmes’ dagger-sharp tongue to cut Sherlock where it hurt before John could completely absorb the fact that Sherlock had saved Adler. Then Sherlock’s face had first gone into a bewildered, near innocent, wounded look then shifted into blankness and he’d snapped out of it, stepping between Sherlock and Mycroft.  
  
He’d told Mycroft to leave, using the same tone he had when dressing down a subordinate, and not come back until he could be civil. Mycroft had done it but not before making one more dig, this one at both of them, asking if John was certain that Sherlock wouldn’t trip after Adler like a lost puppy if she crooked her finger considering that he’d performed tricks for her once before.  
  
Now John would have to deal with the wounds Mycroft had left behind. He met Sherlock’s eyes and waited for him to say something. It would be Sherlock who set the tone here.  
  
Sherlock was still sitting on the sofa where he’d been when Mycroft had barged in uncharacteristically. “I suppose you’re angry as well John?”  
  
John relaxed and walked back to the sofa and sat on the coffee table in front of him. Sherlock asking meant he wasn’t going to shut John out which was good for them but it also meant that Sherlock was hurting. “No. I’m not angry, not at you in any case. I’d like to clock Mycroft but that tends to be par for the course when dealing with your brother.”  
  
Rather than the amused quirk of lips John had been aiming for with that, he was faced with somber regard.  
  
“You’re something though. Disappointed.”  
  
John reached out, almost breathing a sigh of relief when Sherlock didn’t knock his hand away, and cupped his jaw, “I don’t know that it’s disappointment, I can’t think of a word for it really.”  
  
“Because I saved her.”  
  
“No you idiot,” it was softly spoken, almost an endearment in tone, “because you never told me and that makes me feel like you don’t trust me as well as you say you do.”  
  
Surprise flickered through the injury in the slate colored eyes, followed swiftly by apology and a barest touch of shame. “Perhaps I...overestimated your jealous tendencies.”  
  
John shook his head, “I’d only be jealous if I thought you wanted her,” he leaned close so their faces were barely a centimeter apart, “and I know you don’t.”  
  
“No. No I don’t. I’ve not even heard from her since stopping her beheading.” His hand came up to grip at John’s wrist, “Nor have I wanted to.Mycroft is wrong, I won’t-”  
  
He recognized the signs of Sherlock feeling desperate to be believed and moved to the sofa, pulling Sherlock close, pressing their brows together, “I know Sherlock, there’s no need to try and convince me.” He knew that Sherlock was his and only his now and that was all that mattered.  
  
His jaw flexed again as Sherlock shifted, turning into him, almost crawling into his lap, and clung. He could learn to hate Mycroft for hurting Sherlock like this, to the point that he felt insecure enough to cling. He never minded holding Sherlock or being the anchor that kept him from simply drifting away into the ether but he hated to see his confident, smart-arse lover wounded in such a way. He pressed a kiss into the curls on top of Sherlock’s hair, “I’m not going anywhere Sherlock. I’m yours, all of me, forever.”  
  
Sherlock managed to get John’s hand to twine their fingers together tightly, “Forever yours as well.”  
  
John held him closer, letting him have his moment of weakness, and murmured an ‘I love you’ into his ear, knowing that was what he needed. Later, once Sherlock was back to himself, he’d find Mycroft and let him know exactly what he thought about him. No one, not even family, was allowed to hurt Sherlock without facing the soldier that John was underneath the affability and kindness. Sherlock was his to protect, to anchor, and to love.


End file.
